


I would tell you I love you, but I don't think I do

by girl_wonder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1199412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_wonder/pseuds/girl_wonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles is taken over by the Nogitsune, the only choice they have left is to send him away until they find a solution.  Derek is forced to take Stiles and Peter on a road trip that none of them really want to be on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“This isn’t up for discussion,” John Stilinski said. He drew his hand flat through the air. “Stiles isn’t going anywhere.”

“I have to,” Stiles mumbled, his whole body curled in on itself. He talked into the hands pressed tight against his face. “Dad, I can’t stay here, it’ll just get worse.”

“I’m not sure that putting distance between you and the Nameton will make any difference,” Deaton said, calmly.

“It can’t make it _worse_ ,” Stiles said, pulling his hands away from his face, looking down at the bandages. “It can’t get worse.”

“Stiles,” Scott crouched down in front of him, pulling Stiles’ hands off of his face. “We aren’t going to send you away. You need to stay here so that we can make this better.”

“You think you can make him _better_?” Stiles’ voice twisted up on itself, dancing on the edge of something dark and horrible. It sounded like he was singing. “I own him now. He’s mine. If you send me away, that won’t make a bit of- _don’t you guys see_?”

The last was in Stiles’ own voice, a broken plea from someone pushed beyond the edge. Stiles choked on the words, gasping and yanking his hands back from Scott, clawing at his hair. He began rocking back and forth, whispering, “Juststop.Justwakeupwakeupwakeup-“ until his breath began coming too fast and Scott said, “Stiles, count your fingers with me.”

They both paused as Scott reached out and tapped each of Stiles’ fingers, counting, “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

Scott’s face was shadowed and dark, his brows pulled down, when he said, “Why do you want to leave?”

The silence was broken with the slow tick of Deaton’s wall clock. 

“Ask Lydia,” Stiles said, looking over to where she stood in the corner for the first time since she’d come in. “Ask Lydia. She knows.”

Scott sat back on his heels and they all turned to where Lydia was biting her lips, her face pale. When she opened her mouth to speak, they could all see that she’d bitten one of her lips raw. Derek could smell the hint of blood in the air, a sharp tang that echoed in his nose with each of her words.

“All I hear is a bell,” she said. “And I hear it clang over and over. And each time. Each time it’s announcing a new death. It’s going to start with me. And then Allison. And then everyone else. And the last one will be you, Scott.”

Allison took two steps closer and reached out, her hand tight on Lydia’s shoulder. Lydia wiped away at her tears angrily.

“Why me?” Scott asked. He glanced at Stiles and couldn’t help but startle back when he saw the delighted grin on Stiles’ face.

“Because out of all these idiots. _You’re_ the one.” Stiles looked around at all of them, and brought his bound hands up. With his thumbs and forefingers he made the shape of a gun, silently jerking as he reached all of them, until he came to Scott. “You’re the one with the most to lose. You’re the one I’ll be able to feed off of for months.”

“You don’t know that will happen,” John said, angrily turning to Lydia. Allison pulled back her shoulders and the moment grew tense before John seemed to crumble, his shoulders slumping.

“I’ll take him away,” Derek said, quietly. “We’ll see if it makes a difference.”

“The mountain ash rope seems to be holding him for now,” Deaton said. “But if he gets out, Derek, you know what will happen.”

The clock ticked loud and they all looked over to where the twins lay, completely still their skin going ash gray. Allison looked at Scott, then said, “I think we should vote on this.”

“John?” Deaton said. John nodded, his eyes focused on his shoes. “Ok. Scott?”

“No,” Scott said, shaking his head. “I say no.”

“Lydia?” 

“Yes,” Lydia said, her face pale under her makeup. The red of her lipstick stood out like blood spatter, making each of her words a promise. She winced and brought a hand up to her ear, then forced it down to her side where she clenched a fist. “It’s so loud.”

“Allison?”

“Yes.” Allison looked around, bringing up a hand to cover the bruises on her broken arm. “If he’s not killing anyone else, we can focus on finding the _right_ cure.”

“Isaac?” 

“No.” He looked at his hands, mumbling his answer. He sent a haunted look at Scott and then went back to staring at his bruised knuckles.

“John?”

“No.” John crossed his arms. “I don’t think it’s the best way.”

“Derek?”

“Yes,” Derek locked eyes with Scott. “He’s already killed, and he’s going to do it again. Distance from the Nameton would make a difference.”

“Stiles?” Deaton asked. They all turned to where Stiles was sitting.

His rocking slowed until he was still. “Yes. Dad, if I’m not near you-“ he cleared his throat. “If I’m not near you, I can’t kill you.”

“Alright,” Deaton said. “The vote says that he should go.”

“You will call me,” John said, pointing at Derek. “ _You will call me every goddamned day._ ”

Derek nodded. “We’ll leave tonight.”

“I’ll go, too,” Scott said, standing. He looked between where Stiles had started rocking again and where Derek stood. “I’m going.”

“Your father,” Allison said, with a sigh. “We know what will happen. He’ll go after you. What are you going to tell him?”

“That I’m going on a school trip,” Scott said, shrugging. “That we’re going to Yellowstone or something, it doesn’t matter.”

“And when he asks at school about the trip?” Allison said. “And when he starts going after Sheriff Stilinski harder? When he starts pulling your mom in for questioning?”

“It’s Stiles,” Scott said. “I’m not leaving him.”

“You have to,” Stiles mumbled. He pulled his hands away and looked at Derek. “If things go bad, you’ll do what you have to?”

Derek felt the weight of everyone’s gaze on him and he nodded. He looked at Lydia and remembered one night in the dark, when he’d been sure she was the kanima. “I will.”

“Of course he will,” Stiles said, rubbing his face again. “Of course he will. Wakeupwakeupwakeup.”

“We’ll find a solution,” Deaton said, but it was a sort of uncertain thing, he looked between John and Scott as he said it. “There is a way to save Stiles.”

“I have to go,” John said, and was out the door before anyone could stop him. Lydia and Allison both offered to go pack a bag for Stiles and followed after him.

“I have to go take care of a few things,” Derek said. He nodded to Deaton. “Keep him here and get ready anything that I’ll need to keep him contained.”

“I still want to come,” Scott said. He looked down at Stiles. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Do you know what I’ll do to him? I’ll start with the easy things. Breaking some bones, stuff that technically a human body can heal from,” Stiles said. He smiled again, the disconnected smile that started and ended with his pitch black eyes.

“I think you make him worse,” Deaton said, quietly coming close to Scott. “He’s fixating on you, Scott. Maybe because you have ‘the most to lose,’ or maybe because you’re one of the people Stiles cares the most about.”

“So I can’t go,” Scott said.

“We’ll find a solution. We found a solution for Gerard and Ducalian. We’ll find a solution for a Nogitsune.”

Scott nodded, and settled down next to where Stiles had gone back to rocking. Derek stopped next to him and gripped his shoulder tight before heading out. The room was quiet, and Stiles gripped his hair so tight that it began coming out at the roots. 

“Wakeup,” he whispered. “C’monStileswakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well?” Lydia asked. “Where’s our ride?”

Lydia appeared near dusk, rolling two suitcases behind her, wearing sunglasses and a clutch tucked under her elbow. Scott was still murmuring, “I trust you,” to Stiles when the bell attached to the door of the clinic rang and all of them looked up to where she was posed, one hand on the handle of one of the suitcases, the other on her hip. 

“Well?” she asked. “Where’s our ride?”

“ _Our_ -“ Scott starts, but Stiles is faster and interrupts, “No, no, no, you can’t come.”

He began rocking again and said, “I can see how he’ll kill you.” 

“Well, that’s awkward,” Lydia said, and then pushed her shoulders back. “And too bad, because I’m definitely not leaving you alone with that psycho.”

“What psycho?” Derek asked, pushing the door open. He took two steps in, and frowned down at her luggage. Peter trailed behind, his hair slicked back and a hint of fang whenever he looked at Derek.

“That psycho,” Lydia said, pointing at Peter with her brown leather clutch. She took out a mirror and her lipstick, ignoring everyone else. 

“No,” Derek said. “It’s already dangerous if I take him out of the state, I can’t have two minors-“

Capping the lipstick, Lydia pulled out a sheaf of folded papers, brandishing them to the room at large. “Well, I’m glad one of us thought to get parental permission papers.”

“Did John sign this?” Deaton asked, taking the papers to look them over. He skimmed them, and then handed them back to Lydia, a frown creasing his brow.

“Yes. So did my mother, for anyone who cares,” Lydia rolled her eyes. She glanced at Peter out of the corner of her eye. “Well? Are you getting the luggage or are you just going to stand there like creeping is in Hale DNA?”

Glancing first to Derek, then to the room at large, Peter huffed his annoyance. He picked up both suitcases and shoved his way out of the clinic. 

“You can’t go,” Scott said, standing. He waited for Deaton to crouch down and brush aside the mountain ash dust, barely a finger’s breadth, but enough that Scott could take a long stride over the circle and Deaton could instantly brush the ash back into place.

Stiles was wearing a smile, a small quirk of his lips that made the shadows under his eyes more obvious. “You think I’m going to escape, druid?” 

He sat up on his knees and leaned his cheek against the field that the mountain ash created. The room seemed to jump with electricity, a loud snapping echo that vibrated in Derek’s teeth. Stiles’ face reflected the blue of the field and he slid his face up the wall so that he was even with Deaton’s ear.

“Lemme tell you a secret,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m just where I want to be.”

“I’ve never doubted that for a moment,” Deaton said. He stood and looked down at Stiles. Nearby, Scott was frozen, his fingers twitching as his claws extended, the drip of blood from his fingertips quiet compared to the sound from the mountain ash.

Stiles leaned against the mountain ash field for a moment longer before sitting back. The sudden silence in the room was deafening.

Peter pushed the door to the clinic open and the bell jangled loudly, startling Lydia enough that she dropped her clutch. Derek threw him a dark glare.

“What? Are we supposed to put the lotion in the basket?” Peter asked. “This trip had better end bloody.”

Rolling her eyes up, Lydia made a disgusted noise low in her throat.

“Let’s go,” Derek said. He eyed the circle that was currently keeping Stiles trapped and the rope that they’d soaked in ethanol and mountain ash that bound his wrists and feet. “How should we move him?”

“Since you’re in a car, we can’t use another mountain ash circle, but he can’t break the rope,” Deaton said. He crossed his arms over his chest, and glanced between Derek and Peter.

“Can we even touch the rope?” Peter asked, reaching for an extra coil lying on one of Deaton’s examination tables. His hand lit electric blue and he jerked it back, cradling it to his chest. 

“Are you kidding me?” Peter roared.

His fangs were out, but Scott let out a quick growl and Peter shook off the change. Lydia approached, waiting with her hands held up near her shoulders for Peter to move out of her way. He shuffled back, bowing slightly, one hand extended towards the table sarcastically. 

Lydia reached down, one manicured finger extended. She touched the rope and when nothing happened she picked it up in her hands. It was heavy, and she could feel the rough strands when she shifted her grip.

The rope was small enough that they’d been able to knot a complicated seaman’s knot around Stiles’ wrists. Lydia smirked back at Peter.

“One of us can,” Lydia said, coiling the extra rope and holding it in one hand near her knee. She looked between Derek and Peter, then to Deaton.

“Well? Are we leaving?” she asked. 

Derek looked at her, arms crossed, “You can’t come.”

“Let me make this very clear, Derek Hale. I’m coming because I’m the only one here who seems to have any idea what the nogitsune is planning and because if you leave me behind, I _will_ call the FBI and report the kidnapping of a minor.”

She turned to glare at Peter. “I’m not leaving Stiles alone with this murderer.”

Peter tilted his head and a smirk crept over his lips. “What do you hear, Lydia?”

“Enough to know that if you got your way, Stiles ends up dead,” she said, sweetly. “We’re wasting time.”

Derek looked at Deaton, who broke the circle after a long moment of hesitation. He immediately grabbed hold of the rope tying Stiles, and looked between the three werewolves. 

“Scott, get one of the leather dog leashes.” Deaton said, quietly. He looked back at Stiles and his face was blank, lips pulled into a neutral expression. 

Scott handed him the leash and Deaton clipped it to the ropes tying Stiles’ hands. Stiles stared at Deaton, smiling. “I’m going to come back and skin you alive.”

“No,” Scott said. “You won’t.”

He emptied a needle into Stiles’ jugular. The florescent green liquid lit up Stiles’ veins for a moment and then he collapsed, shuddering before falling still. The shallow rise and fall of his chest proved he was breathing.

“Heart rate?” Deaton asked.

Scott swallowed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “Normal. Sleep-normal.”

“You maybe have ten hours,” Deaton said.

“It’s eighteen hours to the cabin,” Derek said, already moving towards Stiles. He eyed him for a moment, then crouched, sliding one arm under his knees and the other under his back. He stood, adjusting Stiles’ body for a moment so that the rope didn’t touch Derek’s skin.

“Here,” Scott said, handing three vials of the florescent liquid to Lydia. “About a hundred milligrams for ten hours.”

She took the vials and put them in her purse, then took the syringes Scott offered and tucked those next to the vials. He reached out suddenly, holding her tightly, so that she could hear his breath, the shortness of it, like he was gasping after forcing himself to stop crying.

“I’ll take care of him,” she whispered. “Just find a way to get it out of him.”

Unconscious, Stiles looked younger than he was, his skin pale and a cold sweat touching his brow. They all followed Derek outside to settle Stiles into the back seat, waiting for Lydia to tie him down before Scott put a blanket over him, carefully hiding the ropes.

Lydia took the front seat, and Peter huffed a sign before getting in the back.

“Call me,” Scott said. “As soon as you stop.”

Derek nodded, and reached out, grasping his hand and then pulling him into a one armed hug. 

“You know you aren’t an omega,” Scott said. “Not when you have me.”

Swallowing, Derek said, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

They drove out of Beacon Hills just under the speed limit.


	3. Chapter 3

They drove for hours. After six, it was getting light out and traffic was heavier.

“We should stop,” Lydia said, finally. They’d passed their third highway patrol car and even though Stiles looked asleep, both Lydia and Peter had stayed awake, Lydia constantly glancing backwards in the passenger mirror. 

Peter had spent the time staring out the window, playing with a small can that Lydia realized early on was mace mixed with mountain ash. She shook her head, the car noisy with the nogitsune and Peter both ringing in her ears.

“We can’t stop,” Derek said. “I don’t want to risk it.”

“Listen,” Lydia said. “You might be able to stay up for hours, but Stiles is going to need to be dosed soon and I’d prefer not to do that in a rest stop where there are lots of witnesses. Moreover, you promised Sheriff Stilinski that you’d call him. You probably shouldn’t leave him with too much time on his hands.”

“Only for a couple of hours.”

“Fine,” Lydia agreed. “Enough for us to get some food and to make sure he’s out cold again.”

Derek glared at the white dashed line dividing his car from the eighteen wheelers going in the opposite direction. Lydia ground her teeth and pulled out her phone.

“Be sure to tell Scott,” Derek snapped.

Lydia didn’t even look at him as she raised the phone and took a picture of Stiles, texting it with a whooshing sound.

“Well,” Peter said. “This is totally not awkward. I’m super glad I am roped into this.”

“Shut up,” Derek snapped as Lydia closed her eyes and took a long breath.

The silence stretched again, like a thin piece of ice ready to crack and drown the next person who spoke.

They were driving through Nevada, a sandy rocky stretch that was only occasionally broken by towns. Every so often, they’d pass cars stopped for pictures and Lydia was reminded again of what life had been like before everything. She glanced back and saw that Stiles was gaining more color. It made her nervous and she knew that Derek and Peter could probably tell. Derek kept looking at her out of the corner of his eyes and his nostrils flared until she finally cracked open a window to give them all a break.

The next hotel they passed had a faded 6 over it, the blue almost blending in with the white. It was two stories, the paint peeling and only three other cars in the lot when Derek pulled in.

“I’ll get a room,” he muttered. “Keep an eye on him.”

The words weren’t clear about whether he meant Stiles or Peter but Lydia nodded, her purse open and fingers brushing against the vials compulsively. When Derek opened the door, a blast of hot air hit her like a punch to the gut. Even Peter made a face and leaned back, closing his eyes in pretend sleep.

Derek was back quickly, passing the pair of keycards over to Lydia. He drove to the backside of the building, and they all stumbled out, the heat drying out the inside of Lydia’s nostrils. She headed towards the room number scrawled on the keys’ envelope, behind her she heard the passenger door opening, and Derek grunting as he picked up Stiles. 

Derek muttered something to Peter and she didn’t need wolf hearing to know that Peter growled in response. The growl was cut short as Derek snapped at him, alpha and knowing it even though his eyes were beta blue. Peter slammed the trunk and his grumbling was like static of a tv left on a channel with no reception. 

The maid was down the hallway and she glanced between the three of them. Her eyes formed a question that had an answer more yes than no, but Lydia smiled, sweet and brilliant and swept into the room. She closed the door behind Peter, who dropped her suitcase and Derek’s duffel on the floor.

With an epic sigh that encompassed all of them, Peter threw himself on the bed closest to the tv and turned it on.

“Where do you want him?” Derek asked. Stiles’ breathing was deeper and Lydia pointed to the stained carpet next to the bed. Dark patched mottled the red color. Crouching carefully, Derek put Stiles down and stepped back. Digging through the bag Deaton had pressed into her hands, Lydia pulled out the sack of mountain ash. 

She thought about a story that Stiles had told her once, about the first time he’d used mountain ash. How he’d run out and how he’d held the last handful in his palm and closed his eyes and believed with every fibre in his being.

“It was enough, Lydia,” he’d muttered. Then he’d looked up at her and grabbed at her arms, his nails digging hard enough to draw blood. “How did it work? How did it work if I’m not anything?” 

She should have known then. Later, after the whole mess and the blood and the black eyes. She should have known when he’d collapsed and begun crying.

Using a small silver cup, she scooped out enough ash and spread it in a narrow circle around Stiles. She was almost done when she heard what sounded like a car crash. Metal screamed and glass shattered, raining down onto asphalt, and she was sure she heard blood drip. It came out of nowhere and startled her into shaking out half the cup out onto the filthy carpet.

“What-“ Derek asked, but she couldn’t hear, just see the words forming on his lips.

The sound of metal and glass and screeching pain was enough to distract her and when she looked back at him, Stiles was awake and reaching for her. Desperate, she threw the remaining ash and it landed, with a solid thump, finishing the circle.

She thought again of Stiles, closing his eyes and believing.

Peter sneezed and Derek stumbled back. 

“Jesus and his fucking baker, Lydia,” Peter snarled. “Be careful, that stuff is toxic!”

Stiles’ hand ran into the barrier and his whole body lit up with the electric glow. His lips opened and she saw the broken glass, twisted metal in his smile.

“Almost,” he whispered.

Lydia threw herself backwards. “I need a shower,” she muttered.

When she got in the bathroom, she realized that all of her stuff was outside, on the floor. She wasn’t going to pass by Peter wearing a towel, not with the way his nostrils flared when he saw her or the way his eyes crinkled at the edges like he knew what she was thinking. 

The bathtub was stained a permanent yellow, cracked where the water drained out. She made a face and sat on the lid of the toilet. Her ears were still ringing and it was like psychic tinnitus. Every other sound came through muffled and all she could hear clearly was the high pitched ringing. 

There was a knock on the door and she knew it was Derek, because his mind was quiet - she didn’t hear car crashes or the sound of someone digging out of their own grave.

“You ok?” Derek asked. Lydia leaned over and opened the door, her hand dropping away when Derek stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“What happened?” he asked. He stood for a moment, then realized he was looming and tried to fold in on himself before settling for a perch on the tub.

“I heard a car crash,” Lydia said. “It wasn’t real, just the nogitsune playing. But it… I heard us, maybe. Or someone else. I heard something horrible and real.”

Derek frowned and said, “We’ll have to be careful. If he can distract you, that might give him an advantage.”

Lydia waved her hands. “You remember what Deaton said? That he’s right where he wants to be?” 

She waited for Derek to meet her eyes. “He’s right, which means we’re giving the nogitsune something it wants. Something it needs.”

“Should we go back?” Derek asked.

Lydia shrugged one shoulder, clasping her hands together hard enough to hide the shaking. “So that he can go back to torturing Scott and maybe kill some more people we know?” 

“Fair point,” Derek said, his lip twitched in a smile. “Don’t forget putting the Sheriff on the government’s radar.”

Lydia realized suddenly that she might like Derek. The thought had never occurred to her before, when he was acting mysterious or biting her classmates. He’d always felt like the weird older brother that showed up to high school parties and stayed even though it made the party suddenly, intensely awkward.

“Let’s keep going,” Lydia said. She stood, and tossed her hair in the mirror, running a finger along a non existent smear on her lipstick.

When she got out of the bathroom, Peter had settled on an episode of Criminal Minds, but had muted the sound. He was sitting now, his hands clasped between his knees and his eyes bright and yellow on Stiles.

“You know the sound,” Stiles’ body said. “The sound that a bone makes when you squeeze it so hard that it just… shatters.”

Peter looked at where Derek stood, his eyes glancing to Lydia, then back to Derek.

“I like this kid,” he said.


End file.
